Um, Yeah, They Do It
by Crazyangel1
Summary: Yeah, they do it. Seriously. We all do it, right? Of course. GS


**Spoilers**: Ha! I'm delighted to say this, let me pretty myself up for this one—CrazyAngel pulls down her 'Geek Love: Uncovered' T-shirt and checks her hair—there, there. Ahem, "Way to Go" Grins Oh, even though Grissom's pyjamas were awful…how cute is that man, eh?

**Summary**: Yeah, they do it. Seriously. We all do it, right? Of course. Short story, a prime candidate for folks in need of a quick CSI fix but without much time to read. G/S

**Author's Note**: I wrote this in a day but I had the idea weeks ago; it had been growing in my head all that time. I want to thank all the people who review my fics and those who don't review but read. I love you guys!

**Long Overdue Things: **To _midsummerwriter_: Thanks for remembering "The Night shift's Cabin" and reviewing it after all this time.

To _MonthyPythonfan_: Maybe you'll read this, maybe you won't but I hope you like it. Your reviewing spree kind of nudged this story out of my head (well, that _and_ the Sixth Season finale).

**Feedback: **I don't like redundancy so I'm going to ask for feedback in a way I've never done before. You'll see what it is at the end.

Um, Yeah, They Do It

By Crazyangel

Grissom rested his forearms on the shopping cart and stared at Sara's profile while she gave her undivided attention to the latest vegetarian product, a self-proclaimed be-all and end-all of ready-to-microwave lasagnas. She had been squint-reading the fine print on the nutritional value label for three excessively long minutes.

Grissom dropped his eyes to the front-end of the cart and then to Sara's hip. A plan sprouted; he took a step forward and nudged Sara in the aforementioned hip.

He needn't do or say more.

"Oh, sorry," she said. Sara put back the plastic package and then resumed her stroll. They came to the end of the aisle. She paused for a millisecond as if scanning the memorized grocery list.

"Shampoo," she said.

Grissom nodded and they made a right-turn into the next aisle.

Sara was the list-keeper, Grissom the list-maker. This was because Sara had an astounding talent for grocery shopping and Grissom was pretty decent at keeping house. He would tell her what they needed and Sara would remember it without the aid of a written list. As easily as she remembered DNA recovery statistics or the last entomology book he'd given her for Christmas.

Grissom came to the conclusion that since he'd been with Sara, he now shopped without a list, did exactly one round of any supermarket without the need to backtrack and never –and I mean _never_- forgot anything. It intrigued him how another person in his life could change even the most menial of tasks.

"Anyway, Nick and I dug a little deeper and turns out this woman had made her mother-in-law take an insurance policy out on her son. Very suspicious."

"What was wrong with that meatless lasagna you stared at for ten minutes?"

She looked at him. "Olestra. It has no business being there, like a hair in a plate of spaghetti."

Grissom's upper lip lifted. "Right." Getting back to the original conversation he said, "Why would the mother-in-law agree to that peculiar request?"

She tilted her head towards him, rising her eyebrows. "Ah. That's what we're trying to find out. We're gonna head out to the insurance company to take a closer look at that contract."

This reminded Grissom of the meeting he was supposed to have with Ecklie and the Sheriff. They wanted to increase the CSIs solve-rate. Grissom would ask them to make a millionaire increase in the CSI budget. Grissom would watch the top of the Sheriff's brain fly off his head.

So, they came to the shampoo section and Grissom let go of the cart while Sara went ahead to pick her own shampoo in the women's section.

And here comes the kicker, Grissom, though he might appear God-like in his understanding of all things forensic, actually put some thought into what shampoo he would be squirting on his hair. He took the one he had been using for the past month and stared at it; his brows furrowed and one hand went up to his head. He captured a lock of gray and felt it through his thumb, index and middle finger.

Bit rough, he thought. It wouldn't hurt to switch.

Sara returned and put her bottle –it was green and had a brunette with long hair on the front. That one smelled like fruit, Grissom liked it.

"What-um…what are you doing, Griss?" Sara went over to him and looked at the bottle. "I thought you were in a hurry."

Grissom glanced at her, frowning and with his mouth ever-so-slightly parted. This facial expression was interchangeable with the phrase: you're _kidding_ me, right, Sara? After you spend two hours reading the back of a microwave meal?

Sara smiled an apology. "O-key. You're right."

He showed her the bottle. "Do you think this shampoo—?"

Sara glanced at his hair and shook her head. "Not the best one you've used, no."

Grissom put down the bottle and picked up another one, he popped the cap and took a whiff. He pursed his lips and then gave the bottle a gentle squeeze and took a second whiff. He shook his head. "Too strong."

"Same rule as the cologne?"

Grissom said, "Uh-huh."

He took another bottle and repeated the procedure. He tilted his head. This bottle was a 'maybe' so he kept it in his hand while he reached for another one: a sleek black bottle that screamed 'I'm a man with beautiful hair and I like to keep it smooth and shiny'.

He repeated the procedure, then offered Sara a whiff. "Smells nice. Very subtle."

The shiny, black, macho shampoo bottle went next to Sara's green, fruity one. And this concluded their grocery shopping afternoon so they headed to the cash-registers. One their way there, however, they encountered a child in need of assistance.

He was attempting to grab a box of Nixxies, the latest on the market, Grissom assumed by the amount of flashy publicity surrounding the boxes. The kid's hands were busy sustaining an assortment of packages of chocolate-covered Oreos, marshmallows, chocolate bars, amid other stuff Grissom couldn't identify. It' looked like he was preparing for the end of the world and a lot of cavities.

"Ma'am? Ma'am?" He said to Sara. "Could you—" he stretched his hand towards the box, he nearly dropped everything to the floor. "Could you get that for me?"

Sara shared an amused look with Grissom and went to the kid. He was six or seven, blond and brown-eyed.

Sara reached for the box. "You think you can handle it?"

The kid nodded. He was about as tall as Sara's legs were long.

"Sure, it's all in the chin." He titled his head back as if he were trying to appear taller than he was. "Put it there."

Sara tucked the box under the kid's chin. His chin descended and secured the cargo with a little pressure. "Thanks." And he walked off, one careful step at the time.

"What an ambitious child." Grissom said as he pushed the cart forward. He stopped. Sara was bent down, hands on thighs, inspecting the cereal box with noticeable interest.

She read out loud: "Chocolate-covered corn flakes with a chocolate syrup liquid center." She swiveled her head around to look at Grissom, eyes twinkling..

Grissom rose an eyebrow. Sara had a sweet tooth and the metabolism of a hummingbird. She'd eat any sweet, anytime, anywhere. And _never_ gain a pound.

Sara tossed a box of Nixxies in the cart, it landed next to Grissom's vanilla yogurt.

Grissom voiced a thought that had been interrupted by the kid and said, "This guy bled to death in a sawing accident in his house, right?"

The woman in front of them in the queue glanced back. She gave Sara and Grissom a curious once-over.

Sara and Grissom, interesting couple. Watch out for their kids.

THE END

Glad you stuck around. So, the new method? It's short and it's called Visualization-ing (a needless modification of the noun "visualization" which would serve my purpose just right, but do not argue with the crazy). It only works if you liked the story, if you didn't, stop reading _here_. On we go: Step1visualize yourself hitting the 'go' button to review.

That's it, that's all I've got so far. Innovation don't come easy, people.


End file.
